


By Your Side

by ruby_took



Series: Dream the World [2]
Category: The Sandman (Comics), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Children of Earth Compliant, Crossover, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Gwen Friendly, Temporary Character Death, potentially disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 00:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21109358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruby_took/pseuds/ruby_took
Summary: Nothing is going to keep Ianto from Jack's side. Not even death.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another part of the story which I'm transfering over from LJ.
> 
> This is a companion piece to "Dream the World", mostly covering Ianto's perspective.

It wouldn’t be long now, Ianto knew. A sharp burning sensation was spreading through his chest as he struggled to breathe, and he no longer had the strength to stop the tears welling in his eyes from falling. It wasn’t fair! Since he started to work for Torchwood, he’d always known that he was likely to die young, but damn it, couldn’t he have had a little longer?

With some difficulty, he focused on the man holding him. Jack’s face was tear-stained as well, and the devastation in his eyes made Ianto want to reach up and wipe those tears away, pull his lover down for a kiss; but he felt so heavy, arms like lead, and his body didn’t want to cooperate.

Breathe in, breathe out. God, it hurt!

Darkness was beginning to creep into the edges of Ianto’s vision. No, he wasn’t ready to go yet! There was something…something he needed to tell Jack. It suddenly seemed vitally important that he should know.

“I love you,” he managed, voice cracking around tears and pain.

“Don’t.” Jack shook his head. “Save your breath.”

Ianto had never heard the other man sound so vulnerable before. Or so desperate.

_I’m so sorry, Jack. I wish I could have more time with you. I don’t want to leave, but I can’t—_

The darkness was closing in fast, and Ianto could feel his life fading away. Somewhere, Jack was calling his name, but it was so impossibly far away.

_I’m glad you were with me at the end_, Ianto thought, and then a wave of pure black pulled him under.

***

The first thing Ianto noticed was that the pain was gone. And he appeared to be standing upright. Hadn’t he been lying in Jack’s arms a moment ago? Dying in Jack’s arms… Oh!

Experimentally, Ianto took a deep breath. If he looked down, he could see his chest rise and fall, but the familiar sensation of air filling his lungs was absent. A quick check of the rest of his body revealed that while everything seemed to be in full working order, he couldn’t feel himself move. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything at all.

Curiosity piqued, he looked around, but his surroundings seemed misty and unfocused. It was very strange. He’d never quite wanted to believe that the darkness Jack saw when he died was really all there was—it was far too depressing a concept in a job in which dying young was likely—but this certainly wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

“We can go somewhere else if you prefer,” an upbeat female voice said behind him.

Ianto spun around and found himself face to face with a pale woman dressed in black. At first glance, she didn’t look any older than he, but her eyes…

Ianto had been with Jack long enough to see the hidden age in the eyes, and Jack’s eyes were very young compared to hers.

“Who are you?” he asked carefully. He was fairly sure that any damage that could be done to him had already been done, but he knew better than to assume anything.

“I’m Death,” she introduced herself, holding her hand out to him. Ianto shook it tentatively. If he hadn’t been looking, he wouldn’t have noticed that he’d made contact at all. He could tell she was telling the truth, but somehow, it didn’t unsettle him as much as he thought it might. “And you’re Ianto Jones,” the woman continued.

Ianto inclined his head. He didn’t ask how she knew: it stood to reason that she’d know everyone.

“Let’s go somewhere a little more comfortable,” Death said. She made a wide sweeping motion with her hand, and suddenly they were in a deserted café. “Take a seat.”

Ianto stepped up to the closest table and pulled out a chair. “Where are we?”

Death sat down opposite him and met his gaze, steepling her fingers. “Your safe place,” she said.

Huh. Somehow Ianto would have expected his safe place to be with Jack.

“Oh, this was already your safe place long before you met the Captain.”

Ianto nodded. It made as much sense as anything else about this. “So, what now?”

Tilting her head, Death gave him a friendly look. “That’s really up to you. I’m just here to show you the way.”

“The way where?”

“Wherever you want to go next.”

Ianto had to admit that he was at a loss: he hadn’t been prepared to have a choice. “Why me?” he asked curiously. “There must be thousands of people dying right now. More even. Why come to me?”

Death laughed. It sounded like wind rustling the leaves of a tree. “I come to everyone who dies. And everyone who is born, too, although they usually don’t remember.”

“But how—?”

She shook her head. “It’s best not to think about metaphysics too much. It’s not meant to be explainable by human standards.”

“Right.” Ianto hesitated a moment. “Can I… Can I see Jack?”

“Sure.” Death made a stirring motion over the table. The tablecloth seemed to swirl and a picture appeared.

There was a large hall of some kind, with rows and rows of _things_ covered with red sheets. Bodies, Ianto realised. Jesus! So many dead.

The image pulled closer to two figures kneeling over one of the bodies. Jack and Gwen.

Jack was crying silently. Gwen was hugging him from behind, caught halfway between wanting to give comfort and needing comforting herself, but Jack hardly seemed aware of her presence. Ianto tried very hard not to look at what they were staring at. It was disconcerting to see himself from the outside, unnaturally still, skin as white as marble.

With one more look at the utterly broken expression on his lover’s face, Ianto knew where he wanted to go.

“I want to go back to him.”

“You want to haunt your boyfriend?” Death’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

Ianto snorted inwardly. He was fairly sure that only in Torchwood could such a thing sound like a perfectly reasonable way to spend one’s afterlife. “Well, I wouldn’t call it haunting, exactly…”

Death’s expression turned serious. “He wouldn’t be able to see you. You wouldn’t be able to touch him or interact in any way.”

Ianto nodded, then a thought occurred to him. “If I can’t touch anything, won’t I fall through the floor?”

“Why would you?” Death’s voice was indulgent in a way that made Ianto think he wasn’t the first person who’d asked her that. “There’s no body for gravity to pull down; the only reason you still look like yourself is that your mind is used to that shape. As long as you’re careful, you should even be able to sit on things. Technically speaking, you can touch, it’s just that in order for people to be able to feel it, you would have to be able to apply pressure.” She gave him an inquisitive look. “Are you sure that this is what you want?”

“I’m sure.” Ianto couldn’t imagine any kind of existence without Jack, and the idea of Jack all alone didn’t even bear thinking about. And while Jack might not be able to see him, maybe, just maybe, he would feel his presence. Maybe it would ease his loneliness a bit. Ianto had to hope. All he knew was that as long as he had any choice in the matter, he would never leave Jack to be alone.

He pushed away the thought of what he would do when Jack moved on, found someone new to love. Of course, he wouldn’t want Jack to shut himself off from the world—Jack needed someone, and that was as it should be—but that wouldn’t make watching it any easier. But he could worry about that when it came to it.

“If you change your mind at any time, I’ll be there.”

Ianto sighed. “I really wish you’d stop replying to things I didn’t say,” he grumbled, but there was no real annoyance in his voice.

Death smiled at him. “I am what I am.”

“Yeah. And thanks.” He paused a moment to collect himself. “I’d like you to take me to Jack now, please.”

“Okay,” Death said, and then added, “After all that is over, though. There are some things he wouldn’t want you to see.”

“All right,” Ianto agreed. “Just take me to him.”

“As you wish.”

Another sweeping motion of Death’s hand, and before he knew it, Ianto was in the makeshift bedroom in the warehouse that had served as their Hub since they’d arrived in London.

As he walked closer, Ianto spotted Jack lying curled up on the bed, dried tear tracks on his face. It looked as if he’d cried himself to sleep.

“Oh, Jack.” Mindful of what Death had told him, he very gingerly sat down beside his lover. The mattress didn’t dip beneath him and not even the sheets wrinkled, but he didn’t seem to be in any danger of falling, either. So far, so good.

He turned his attention back to his partner. Even sleep hadn’t managed to soothe the hurt from the familiar features, and without thinking, Ianto reached out to touch his cheek. His hand passed right through Jack, and Ianto pulled it back quickly. The sight was just too disturbing. Clearly, it was going to take time to adjust to his new state.

Suddenly glad that the bed was more than big enough for two and Jack was curled up right at the edge, Ianto stretched out beside his lover, careful not to come close enough to touch again. This was going to be more difficult than he’d thought, but one look at Jack was enough to convince him that he’d made the right decision.

***

It became obvious early on that Jack had some sort of plan, but it wasn’t until they arrived at the first “456 Survivors” support group that Ianto worked out what exactly it was.

Building what Ianto soon realized was a translation device of some sort hinted at travel, and selling their apartment could only mean that Jack intended to be away for a long time, maybe even indefinitely.

That had seemed perfectly logical—Ianto remembered the pain of losing Lisa and how every reminder seemed to make it worse. He would have left, if doing so hadn’t meant having years of his life erased from his mind. When he’d worked through the pain, he’d been glad he’d stayed, but he certainly understood the urge to run, and Jack didn’t have the threat of Retcon to stop him. It had never even occurred to Ianto that Jack might have an ulterior motive beyond getting away.

Open-mouthed, he listened to Jack’s speech; listened to him explaining how enough people dreaming the same thing at the same time could change reality.

A torrent of questions went through Ianto’s mind. How did Jack know that? Did he know it, or was it just wishful thinking? Could it be done? Was there actually a possibility to undo what had happened? Could he be alive again? But most importantly, _why_?

There was no doubt Jack was doing this for the sole purpose of bringing Ianto back. He’d never expressed an interest in undoing past events before, no matter how devastating an apocalypse they had just survived, and if the incident with Owen and the second Glove had taught Ianto anything, it was that Jack didn’t like to let go of the people he cared about. But this…this wasn’t just a question of finding a Resurrection Gauntlet and applying some willpower. This was something much more complicated.

Most people couldn’t control their dreams, so getting enough people to dream the same thing was a task of monumental proportions, even presuming that everyone Jack talked to actually believed that it was possible in the first place; and Ianto couldn’t for the world of him understand how he could possibly be worthy of any such thing. He knew he wasn’t the first lover Jack had lost, and he couldn’t imagine that he was anything that special.

_Does it matter?_ a voice at the back of his mind asked.

No, it probably didn’t. Jack would do what he felt he needed to do, regardless of whether or not Ianto understood it. And if it worked…

As soon as he felt the anticipation blossom in his chest, Ianto shoved it back down. He couldn’t afford to get his hopes up.

Still, something warm spread through him at the knowledge that Jack loved him enough to even try something like this. And who knew? Maybe it _would_ work.

***

It didn’t take long for Ianto to come to the conclusion that the worst part of his current situation was that while he could see the pain Jack was in, he was unable to do anything about it but watch. He used to be able to soothe him with tender touches and whispered words, but now the helplessness was agonising.

He was also almost beginning to regret that he’d asked Jack not to forget him. All he’d wanted was to know that although his own life was a blip in time compared to Jack’s, he’d made some sort of lasting impression; that maybe he’d get a starring role in one of those outrageous anecdotes Jack sometimes told. But not this.

They were in yet another coffee shop, taking what was quickly becoming a habitual break before the next support group, the next speech, and Ianto was watching Jack stare at a cup of coffee that Ianto knew wasn’t right—not enough cream this time. Deep anguish was shining in the older man’s eyes, and Ianto sighed.

“Ah, Jack, this wasn’t what I meant. You weren’t supposed to torture yourself.”

Not for the first time, he wished that there were something he could do to make things better.

Looking on the bright side, though, having a mission was clearly doing Jack the world of good. For those moments when he was in front of a group of people, talking about dreams and changing the world with a passion that would make the most resolute cynic believe that it could be done, the shadows around him seemed to lift and a semblance of familiar fire replaced the desolation in his eyes.

Jack’s devotion to his task warmed Ianto’s heart, and for a little while every now and then, it was almost possible to pretend that nothing was wrong. Only _almost_, but it was better than nothing. The real problems started whenever they stopped somewhere for the night.

Jack had been tossing and turning, unable to relax enough to sleep, for what felt like hours, and it made Ianto ache for him. He hated seeing his lover like this; hated that he was essentially the cause of it. Ianto exhaled heavily. Of course, he hadn’t expected this to be easy, but he hadn’t thought it would be quite this hard either.

“Hey there, Ianto Jones,” Death’s cheerful voice sounded behind him.

“I didn’t change my mind,” Ianto said quickly, turning to face her. He wasn’t about to abandon Jack just because things were a little difficult. Or even very difficult. Absolutely not!

She waved off his protest. “Nah, I know. I was just passing by and thought I’d see how you’re doing.” She grinned at him.

“You can’t have him!” Jack suddenly snarled behind them.

Startled, Ianto spun round to face his partner, whose gaze seemed to be fixed on the exact spot Death was standing.

“He can’t see you, can he?” Ianto asked, looking over at Death.

“No.” She tilted her head, a fascinated expression on her face, as Jack kept talking as if directly to her.

Ianto only listened with half an ear as his lover listed the ways Ianto had almost died over the years. Looking at it like that, he supposed he should probably consider himself lucky to have lived as long as he had, but the thought was immediately followed by the question why he couldn’t have been lucky one more time.

The one thing that caught Ianto’s attention was hearing that he’d been tortured to death during the Year That Never Was—Jack had never mentioned that before, although it did explain the nightmares he’d had when he came back—but he filed the knowledge away for later. It wasn’t really something that he particularly wanted to think about right now.

“I’ll get him back this time as well, got it?” Jack concluded his outburst. “You’re not keeping him!”

“Do you think it’s possible?” Ianto asked Death. If anyone would know, she would.

She gave him an unreadable look. “There are surprisingly few things that aren’t possible.” Before Ianto could reply, she continued, “I’ll look in again at some point.”

There was a rustling sound, like the movement of vast wings, and then she was gone.

Just as Ianto returned his attention to his partner, Jack whispered, “Do you hear me, Ianto? I’ll get you back,” and Ianto promptly discovered that he could get a lump in his throat, even though he didn’t have a body.

Very, very carefully, Ianto reached out, his hand hovering a millimetre from the other man’s cheek. “I’ve got it on good authority that you might.”


	2. Chapter 2

They’d been travelling for months when Jack got a call from Gwen. Of course, Ianto had only heard one half of the conversation, but he gathered that she wanted to meet Jack about something. Shortly after that call, Jack had started to keep an eye on space travel near the planet, and Ianto wondered if Gwen might have found Jack’s vortex manipulator. It wasn’t as if Jack had any other means of contacting those spaceships, after all. Still, he supposed he’d find out sooner or later. First, there was that meeting with Gwen to think about.

Now, standing beside Jack on a hillside, looking out into the night, Ianto wondered what she could want. He’d been with Jack continuously since the other man had started on his quest, and as far as he was aware, Jack hadn’t told Gwen what he was doing, so that couldn’t be it. Whatever it was, Jack seemed to be uneasy about it.

As soon as he spotted Gwen and Rhys approaching in the distance, he felt his partner tense beside him.

“Couldn’t have chosen a pub, could you?” Gwen called over, and Ianto wondered if she really felt as carefree as she sounded, or if she were just putting up a front. Whichever it was, it seemed to make Jack edgy. If nothing else, his quick retreat into the safe topic of Gwen’s pregnancy told Ianto as much.

Finally, Gwen asked, “You okay?” and Ianto rolled his eyes. Honestly, what exactly did she expect Jack to say?

Jack’s answering, “Yeah,” sounded forced, but if Gwen noticed, she didn’t show it.

“Did it work?”

“Travelled all sorts of places,” Jack said, evading a real answer. “This planet is too small. This whole world is like a graveyard.”

Ianto’s heart ached, as much at the words as at the broken tone they were spoken in.

“Come back with us.” Gwen’s voice was pleading.

In that moment, Ianto was sure that Jack would. Jack had always had a soft spot for Gwen, giving in to her demands even when he knew he shouldn’t. And this one wasn’t even all that unreasonable. Gwen was alive, Ianto wasn’t, and Jack had no way of knowing that Ianto was still right here with him despite that. Gwen could comfort Jack, whereas Ianto couldn’t, and—

“Haven’t travelled far enough yet.” Jack’s words brought Ianto up short. That really wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Got a lot of dirt to shake off my shoes,” Jack continued, looking up. “And right now, there’s a cold fusion cruiser surfing the ion reefs just at the edge of the solar system, just waiting to open its transport dock. I just need to send a signal.”

At that, Gwen pulled Jack’s vortex manipulator out of her pocket. So that was what she’d contacted Jack about, Ianto thought. It certainly explained Jack’s sudden interest in those spaceships.

“They found it in the wreckage,” Gwen said, handing the vortex manipulator over. “Indestructible. Like its owner.”

Ianto flinched, remembering parts of Jack’s body being collected from what was left of the Hub after the explosion. _Indestructible_ was not a word he’d use to describe his lover.

“Are you ever coming back, Jack?”

“What for?”

Ianto nodded to himself. He couldn’t blame Jack for wanting to get away, even if it meant abandoning his mission. After all, he’d been at it for months now, and so far there was no indication that anything was happening. Ianto could hardly expect him to keep trying forever, no matter how much he would have liked to live again.

“For me.” Jack didn’t even dignify that with a response, so Gwen went on, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I think it was.”

“No.”

“Steven and Ianto and Owen and Tosh and Suzie and…” Jack swallowed hard. “All of them, because of me.”

Ianto longed to take Jack into his arms and hug the guilt away. For once, he agreed with Gwen: none of their deaths were Jack’s fault. Torchwood’s fault, certainly, but not Jack’s.

Ianto heard Gwen make another attempt to stop Jack from blaming himself, but he wasn’t really listening anymore. A thought had occurred to him: how was he going to get onto the spaceship? He didn’t have a body their transportation beam could pick up.

Then again, he was essentially just a disembodied consciousness, right? He shouldn’t really be bound by physical rules.

It was at least worth a try.

Jack was starting to press buttons on his vortex manipulator, and Ianto quickly stepped as close to him as he could and carefully put his arms around him, without actually touching. As the transportation beam locked onto Jack, Ianto focused inwards.

_I’m going where Jack goes_, he thought, concentrating on that desire as hard as he could. I’m staying with Jack!

The world around Ianto lurched. There was a moment of intense confusion, and when he looked around, they were in what had to be the hold of the spaceship.

Ianto had no idea if the transportation beam had been able to pick him up after all, or if it were actually a question of ‘mind over matter,’ and he honestly didn’t care too much. The only thing that was important was that he was still with his partner.

***

Ianto didn’t know what he’d thought Jack would do now that he’d left the Earth behind. Travel the stars and try to forget, probably.

Well, they were certainly travelling, but what Ianto would never have considered in his wildest dreams was that even now, travelling from planet to planet, Jack would _still_ be spreading the idea of dreaming a new reality.

It was entirely too much to comprehend. Ianto found it difficult enough to wrap his head around the idea of Jack travelling the world to bring him back, but to think he’d travel the _universe_… It was enough to make Ianto’s head spin.

That was how they came to be sitting on the rolling hills outside a city far away from Earth. Jack was having a bad day—the deep depression rolling off the other man in waves was like a tangible presence in the air—and Ianto once again cursed the fact that he couldn’t touch him or even talk to him. He could only hope that Jack’s spirit would lift when they got to the city and he could do his spiel again.

Suddenly, Ianto heard a noise some distance behind them. A noise everyone in Torchwood One had been trained to recognise: the sound of the TARDIS landing.

Ianto had only seen a glimpse of the Doctor at Canary Wharf, and not much more than that during the video link in the recent Dalek crisis, but he would still have recognised the man approaching Jack now.

The Doctor was chattering away about some companion or other with almost childlike enthusiasm even before he was quite within hearing distance, and Ianto shook his head in amusement. It was strange to think that anyone could ever have considered this to be Torchwood’s enemy Number One.

Under normal circumstances, Jack would have joined in by now, and his complete lack of interest in the Doctor’s presence was a clear indication of just how horrible he felt.

The Doctor seemed to notice that something was off as well. “Jack?”

Jack turned to look up at the Doctor, and seeing the Time Lord’s reaction, Ianto was suddenly glad that he was standing behind his partner and couldn’t see the expression on his face.

“What happened?” the Doctor asked.

As if he’d only been waiting for that question, everything that had happened spilled out of Jack in a rambling torrent. Real compassion shone in the Doctor’s eyes, and Ianto wondered if he would offer Jack the chance to go travelling with him again. Maybe it would be just what Jack needed.

“I love him,” Jack concluded. “Damn it, I _love_ him, and now he’s gone!”

A small, involuntary smile spread over Ianto’s features. He’d never demanded the words from Jack; he didn’t need them—saying it wouldn’t change the way Jack felt, one way or another—but that didn’t mean that it didn’t feel good to hear it anyway.

The Doctor squeezed Jack’s shoulder gently, and Ianto was immensely grateful for the gesture he couldn’t offer himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jack. So, so sorry.” Then, after a pause, “You know I can’t go back to change what happened, right?”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to,” Jack stated. “I already know what I have to do.”

That made Ianto sit up and take notice. So, Jack _did_ know; he wasn’t just going on a whim. That went some way to explaining why he hadn’t given up yet.

“And what would that be?” the Doctor asked suspiciously, and Ianto seconded the question.

He listened with rapt attention as Jack talked about the dream he’d had, and the instructions he’d received about how reality could be changed if enough people dreamt the same thing. A dream sounded like somewhat flimsy evidence, but then again, considering that Death existed, and she was a cheerful Gothic girl, Ianto had to admit that a dream’s being real would be far from the most improbable thing he’d come across.

For the first time since they’d started out, Ianto actually dared to hope that there was a real possibility of success.

“You really shouldn’t be messing with timelines like that, Jack. It’s wrong,” the Doctor blurted, and Ianto’s newly found hope crumbled into dust.

Ianto suspected that the Doctor was the standard against which Jack measured himself, so if the Doctor told him to stop, of course Jack would do it. He—

“What, like _I’m_ wrong, you mean?” Jack snapped, abruptly derailing Ianto’s train of thought. “Wasn’t that what you said? A freak. I’m immortal because of you! Don’t you dare tell me I shouldn’t be doing this. Don’t you dare!”

Ianto could only stare at his lover owlishly as Jack sagged in on himself and apologised.

Jack had shouted at the Doctor.

No, more than that: Jack had shouted at the Doctor because the Doctor had suggested Jack should give up on getting Ianto back.

If Ianto were honest with himself, he had to admit that he’d always worried that if forced to choose between them, Jack would choose the Doctor every time. A weight that only truly became apparent by its absence lifted off Ianto’s heart, and he wished fervently that Jack’s plan would work so that he could show his lover how much this meant to him.

It was almost as surprising that the Doctor relented with little more than a warning that Jack should be careful. However, what Ianto found most intriguing was that the Doctor only questioned the motivation for the advice given in the dream, not whether it were true. It was a heartening thought.

Feeling more content than he had in a while, Ianto followed Jack when the other man started to walk towards the city. Finally, there was a real, tangible chance.

***

It was not long after meeting the Doctor that Jack started to talk to Ianto, as if he couldn’t stand the silence anymore, or to unburden his heart. Or maybe just to feel less alone.

The cot Jack had settled down on was narrow, so Ianto sat down on the edge, facing his partner. Despite the inevitable reminders that Jack couldn’t actually hear his answers, Ianto quite enjoyed these conversations. He’d learned more about Jack and how he felt during these moments than he had in the entire time they’d known each other.

“I’m sorry that I was so standoffish about the whole ‘are we a couple’ thing,” Jack said quietly, and Ianto looked away. He couldn’t deny that that had stung: he’d never been completely sure what this thing between them was, and to hear Jack reject the term ‘couple’ out of hand like that…

“I didn’t mean to diminish what we have in any way; I just don’t like putting labels on something so complex. And…I guess I was scared,” Jack continued.

Ianto snorted. “And you think I wasn’t?” he said dryly. “You’re so much larger than life; it would be so easy to get completely lost in you.”

“You’ve gotten so much farther under my skin than anyone has done in a long time, and it’s _terrifying_.”

“Did I?” Ianto raised an eyebrow. “You’re good at hiding it most of the time.”

“Acknowledging it would have been…”

“Yeah.” Ianto sighed. That at least he could agree with.

“I know it was your first relationship with a man; I could tell,” Jack said. Then, “Not in a bad way, mind,” before Ianto could voice the protest that was on the tip of his tongue. “And it was _me_, no less.”

“You can say that again.” Of all the people he could have fallen for after Lisa, who’d ever have thought that it would be Jack?

“I’ve never given you much reason to believe I was dependable, did I?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Jack. Maybe it would have helped if I’d ever actually told you what I was worried about.”

“You needed to know where we stand, and I should have taken the time to talk to you about it, to explain. I _will_. We’ll do things differently when you’re back. I promise.”

“I’d like that.”

Ianto certainly hoped that they would have an opportunity to talk to each other properly again.

***

Time passed, and even though there was still no sign of reality resetting, Jack didn’t seem inclined to give up. If anything, depression and desolation were being channelled into utterly single-minded determination to keep going. They quickly settled into a routine, and everything else began to fade into the background.

As she’d promised, Death stopped by for a chat from time to time, and soon, Ianto began looking forward to those meetings. There was an undeniable satisfaction in talking to someone who could hear and see him—it made him feel a little less like he was a figment of his own imagination.

And then one day, Death showed up with a curious expression on her features.

“It would seem your captain has done it,” she told him.

“What? You mean—?” Ianto waved his hand in a gesture that took in himself and everything around him.

Death nodded, smiling softly. “Yes.” Then, more seriously, “You won’t remember any of this.”

As everything started to fade into blinding white light, Ianto heard her add, “I’ll see you again, Ianto Jones.” And then he knew no more.

***

In a place everywhere and nowhere, Death looked at her younger brother. She didn’t ask why he made the request. It could be a reward for the captain’s belief, or maybe it was just because he was intrigued. Besides, it might be nice to have someone who wasn’t family to talk to occasionally.

“Okay,” she said. “But it has to be his choice, and if he ever really wants to die, he can. As we’ve told our sister-brother once, we are the servants of the living, not their masters.”

“Every hundred years?” Dream asked.

Death shrugged. “It’s as good a number as any.” Somewhere behind the words, a much longer conversation was going on. “Reality has been reset. Ianto Jones is no longer part of my realm.”

“Use the Dreaming. A suitable place should become available.”

And that was that. Even for the Endless, a diversion from the passing of time was sometimes welcome, and they would watch with interest to see what would come of this.

***

_Ianto was sitting at a table in a café. As he was looking around to figure out where he was, a young gothic-looking woman approached him and sat down beside him. There was an ankh on a chain around her neck and a Wedjat painted around her right eye. There was something vaguely familiar about her, as if he’d met her somewhere before._

_“Ianto Jones,” she said. It was not a question._

_He nodded. “That’s me.”_

_The woman inclined her head in acknowledgement. “I’m Death,” she said._

_Somehow, Ianto knew that it was true. He nodded again. “Is this it, then?” He tried hard not to think about what his death would do to Jack, but didn’t quite succeed._

_The woman laughed a cheerful, contagious laugh. “No. Not at all. Actually, I have a proposition for you.” She gave him a searching look. “Ianto Jones, how do you feel about not dying?”_

_Confusion clouded Ianto’s features. “How do I feel about not dying right now, you mean?” What kind of question was that? Of course he didn’t want to die._

_Death’s expression softened. There was something exceptionally likable about her. “No. I mean, how do you feel about not dying? I’ll come back to ask you every hundred years, but it will always be your choice.”_

_“Why?” It sounded entirely too good to be true._

_“Apparently, you are very precious to someone who impressed my brother.” Death shrugged. “So, do we have a deal?” She held out her hand._

_A bright smile lit up Ianto’s face as he took the offered hand and shook it. “Deal.”_

_“Peachy keen.” She grinned. “I’ll see you in a hundred years, Ianto Jones.”_

Ianto surfaced from sleep slowly, half inside and half outside his dream, when he became aware of Jack clinging to him as if his life, or maybe both their lives, depended on it.

Sluggishly, he turned in his lover’s arms. “J’k, ‘s everyth—?” And then he was being kissed to within an inch of his life.

In hindsight, Ianto thought that he should have noticed something was going on, but it hadn’t really seemed all that strange at the time. Sure, Jack hadn’t been quite that upset by a nightmare in a long time, but it wasn’t exactly unheard of. And of course, then the Pharm happened, Owen nearly got shot, and anything that might have seemed a little off about Jack’s reaction that morning completely slipped Ianto’s mind.

He might never have thought about it again if a close encounter with a Weevil a few days later hadn’t been a bit too close for comfort.

All things considered, Ianto figured he’d gotten off lightly—he’d had worse after Weevil attacks and likely would again—but Jack was on edge for the rest of the day. The unease ran deep enough that it triggered a nightmare, and that’s when the whole story had come out.

Lying beside his partner, propped up on one elbow, the scent of sweat and sex lingering in the air around them, Ianto still couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. He had no real trouble believing that Jack had lived through a future in which first Owen and Tosh and then Ianto himself had died—the way Jack had acted that one morning, knowing that he had to shoot Copley to save Owen, his reaction to Ianto’s being injured, the nightmare—it all fit. It _felt_ true. But it boggled his mind that Jack would go to that much trouble to change what had happened. For _him_.

He hadn’t done it for Owen and Tosh. Their being alive again was a welcome bonus, but they hadn’t been the motivation; rewriting reality wasn’t just something Jack would do for any one of his team. After the occasional bouts of insecurity Ianto had had about their relationship, it seemed almost too much. And all Jack had asked of him in return was that he’d stay.

Well, he would certainly do that. The one thing Ianto had never had any doubt about was that as long as he had any choice in the matter, he wouldn’t leave Jack.

A strange feeling of déjà vu shivered through his body at that thought, like a distant memory of having come to exactly that conclusion before.

And then there was that dream…

Just a dream, of course, but Ianto couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than that. For one thing, the memory of it wasn’t disjointed and surreal, as dreams tended to be. It was all there in his mind, crystal-clear. A promise of the one thing Ianto wanted more than anything: to be able to give Jack forever.

That didn’t mean that he would start taking unnecessary risks, though. He wasn’t suicidal, hadn’t been since Canary Wharf, and he had no intention to test whether he were still mortal or not before he absolutely had to. Besides, this was Torchwood. More likely than not, they’d find out sooner rather than later.

As it turned out, that assessment was entirely accurate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Death mentions their sister-brother, she’s talking about Desire, and the conversation in question occurred in the “Sandman” volume The Doll’s House.


	3. Chapter 3

They hadn’t encountered this species of alien before—huge and bulky, but surprisingly fast for their size, and very aggressive. Still, they proved to be vulnerable to bullets, and the whole thing would have been a standard operation if one of the creatures hadn’t managed to sneak up on them.

Ianto heard the movement behind him and turned, getting ready to shoot, but he was a fraction of a second too slow.

The blade-like appendage on the alien’s arm ripped right through his torso, spearing him with enough force to lift him off his feet. For a few seconds, he was numb with shock, but then the whole world seemed to explode in a blaze of pain.

Somewhere at the edge of awareness, he could hear the commotion of people running and shouting, but it seemed far away, drowned out by the agony coursing through him.

He could feel the blade being withdrawn, blood gushing out of the suddenly unstoppered wound. Someone was calling his name in a panicked, frantic voice. He knew that voice, it—Jack. It was Jack’s voice, rendered almost unrecognisable by the fear audible in it.

Ianto fought to cling to consciousness, to hold on for Jack, but he could already feel darkness closing in around him. Instinctively, Ianto opened his mouth to comfort him, say that everything would be fine, but the only thing that came out was a sputtering sound, accompanied by blood spilling over his lips. Then the darkness pulled him under.

There was no pain here. Actually, Ianto noted with a start that he couldn’t feel his body at all; not the sensation of fabric against his skin, and as he experimentally clenched and unclenched his hands, he realised that he couldn’t feel himself move either. It resulted in an odd sense of disconnection, but at the same time, it was also strangely familiar, although he couldn’t recall why that should be the case.

“Hi there, Ianto Jones. Couldn’t wait out your first hundred years, I see.”

Startled, Ianto turned to see the Gothic woman from his dream saunter towards him, her thumbs hooked into her belt loops.

“Hi,” he answered tentatively. He remembered that she’d said she was Death, and Ianto had no idea what to expect now.

Sensing his unease, Death smiled reassuringly. “I haven’t come to take you if you don’t want to go. I just thought I’d check how you were doing.”

Ianto inclined his head in thanks. “How do I get back?” As far as he was concerned, staying dead was not even an option.

“Just think about what you want to go back for.”

“That’s it?”

“If you really want it, it’ll do.”

Ianto nodded. Picturing his partner, he thought, _Jack. I want to go back to Jack_.

He just had time to see Death give a little wave, grinning cheerfully, before he felt himself being pulled backwards with unstoppable force and slammed back into his body.

Ianto gasped violently as his lungs suddenly screamed for air. Life flooded back through his body, making every inch of him tingle. There was a dull ache in his chest, but it was already beginning to fade.

“Ianto?”

Disoriented, Ianto tried to turn towards the voice. He realised that he was being embraced by strong arms, but he had to blink a few times to focus on the person they belonged to.

Jack was looking down at him, tear tracks glistening on his face. Ianto lifted a shaking hand to wipe the moisture from his lover’s cheeks. “I’m here, Jack.”

Jack continued as if he hadn’t heard him, his voice sounding raspy and brittle. “I thought I lost you again. God, Ianto…”

Taking hold of Jack’s chin, Ianto coaxed him to turn until their eyes met. “I’m fine, Jack. I’m not going anywhere.”

Releasing a shaky sigh of relief, Jack leant down to brush a tender kiss against his lover’s lips. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

“Like I’ve got pins and needles all over, but apart from that I feel surprisingly well,” Ianto said.

Just as Jack moved to kiss Ianto again, Owen’s voice reminded them that they were not alone. “Okay, would someone mind telling us what the fuck is going on?” The doctor turned to Ianto. “No offence, mate, but you should be dead. You _were_ dead. There is no way you could have survived having that claw stuck through you.”

Reflexively, Ianto’s hand came up to his chest. His clothes were torn and soaked with blood, but the skin beneath was undamaged. Before he could make any comment, Owen continued, “I thought Jack was the only one who could pull stuff like that.” He pointed a warning finger at Jack. “You’d better not tell me that your immortality is some kind of weird STD.”

“Can we talk about it later?” Jack asked quietly. The glaring lack of innuendos spoke volumes about how rattled he still was by what happened. Holding a hand up to stop the flow of questions Owen was bound to have, he shook his head. “Tomorrow, okay? Right now, I’m taking Ianto home.” The tone of his voice said in no uncertain terms that Jack would not tolerate being disturbed for anything less than the end of the world this evening.

Owen relented. He still wanted answers—it was frustrating enough that Jack inexplicably came back to life without Ianto getting in on the act as well—but they would keep one more day. Seeing Jack as distraught as he’d been when he’d held Ianto’s body had been extremely disconcerting, and it occurred to Owen that he might have misjudged Jack’s relationship with the younger man.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Owen tapped his earpiece. “Tosh, did we get them all?”

There was the sound of Tosh typing away at her keyboard; then her voice came over the comm. “I’m not getting any other readings of alien life, so that should have been all of them.”

“Thanks, Tosh.” He tapped the earpiece again to close the channel.

As they silently made their way back to the SUV, Ianto tried to ignore the looks he was getting from Owen and Gwen. Instead, he concentrated on the warmth of Jack beside him and the arm that was wrapped around his waist.

Jack, for his part, seemed reluctant to let go of his lover, climbing into the backseat with him and leaving Owen to drive.

Ianto let himself sag into Jack’s embrace, watching the cityscape slip by outside the window. He felt…weird. Not bad—the tingling had faded and he wasn’t in pain—and although what remained of his clothes was unpleasantly damp and sticky, that wasn’t it either. It was just a strange sensation of light-headedness, as if he were ever so slightly tipsy. Residual effects of the blood loss maybe, he mused, or maybe just the unfamiliar aftershock of reviving.

It didn’t take long until Owen pulled up outside the flat. As Jack and Ianto climbed out of the car, Owen threw them another long look, as if to say that while he was willing to let things lie for now, he expected satisfactory answers the next day. Jack hardly paid any attention to the medic; his mind was solely focused on Ianto.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Jack pulled his lover into a passionate kiss, his tongue delving deep, searching out the unique taste of Ianto, the taste of _life_.

When they separated, Jack took a step backwards, taking in his partner, and although he knew intellectually that Ianto was fine, his heart twisted. There was so much blood.

Gently but methodically, he began to peel Ianto out of his ruined clothes, stripping him to the skin—skin that Jack now realised was stained with drying blood as well.

Quickly, Jack divested himself of his own clothes—more blood; it seemed impossible that one body could even contain this much blood—and took Ianto’s hand, leading him towards the bathroom.

Ianto was only too happy to let himself be led. It felt good not to have to worry about anything for a change, and he could tell that doing it was easing Jack’s mind.

Once the shower was switched on, they stepped under the spray together. For a moment, they just stood there, wrapped around each other, letting the water cascade over them. Jack nuzzled the junction between Ianto’s neck and shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there. The he picked up the shower gel and squeezed a dollop of the spice-scented liquid into his hand before beginning to lather Ianto up.

Tenderly, he ran his hands over slick, warm skin. The foam turned pink beneath his fingers, so Jack rinsed it off and started again, washing away the events of the day. He loved Ianto like this, glistening and wet, light shifting and sparkling on droplets with every movement, and Jack tried to let the sight erase the horrific images still dancing in front of his inner eye.

Ianto leaned into the touch, feeling it ground him, chasing away the sensation of light-headed strangeness.

Grabbing the shower gel himself, he began to mimic Jack’s actions. Showering together like this was so familiar, so _normal_, that it almost made it possible to believe that nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

When the water finally ran clear, Jack subtly guided Ianto to rest his head against his shoulder and reached for the shampoo. He loved doing this, threading soapy fingers through Ianto’s soft hair and smoothing his thumbs over sideburns, not least of all because he didn’t often get the chance to pamper his young lover properly. Giving care seemed to come more naturally to Ianto than receiving it, and the Rift had an annoying tendency to spit out alien threats in the middle of their quiet time. But not tonight, Jack promised himself. Tonight was for Ianto.

Ianto relaxed into Jack’s embrace as much as he could without his legs giving way altogether. Sighing contentedly, he gave himself over to the sensation of his partner’s hands in his hair, the way his scalp tingled when Jack ran his fingers from the nape of his neck to the crown of his head, the occasional light touches of fingertips against the shell of his ears, and the way Jack lingered at his temples.

Some deeply ingrained part of him protested that he ought to reciprocate, but he pushed the impulse down. The attention felt so good, and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t understand why Jack needed to do this. He recognised the need to touch and feel from his own reaction to Jack’s coming back to life. Ianto had never been able to take the other man’s immortality for granted, and with every death he was scared that it would be the last.

How much more terrifying must witnessing Ianto’s death today have been for Jack, when the only evidence they’d had that he wouldn’t stay dead was a dream and a promise? And anyway, there would still be plenty of time later to show Jack how much he appreciated what he was doing, once Jack had worked out his demons.

Closing his eyes, Ianto settled himself more firmly against his partner’s body, wrapping his arms around his waist to keep himself upright, and let the tranquillity of the moment wash over him.

Jack could tell the moment Ianto surrendered himself to him, and he smiled tenderly before returning his focus to what he was doing.

By the time he had rinsed out Ianto’s hair and quickly washed his own, the water was on the verge of going cold. Reaching past Jack, Ianto shut the shower off. He cupped Jack’s face and pulled him into a chaste kiss, before stepping out of the shower, taking one towel for himself and throwing one at his lover.

Drying himself off, Jack turned around just in time to see Ianto rub the towel over his head vigorously, which left him looking delightfully dishevelled. Jack couldn’t help himself; he stepped closer and ran his fingers through Ianto’s hair, ruffling it further, laughing when Ianto playfully swatted his hand away.

Jack wrapped his arms around his lover’s middle and leaned down, gently biting his shoulder and then swiping his tongue over the area. “Mhm, tasty,” he murmured.

There had been a time at the beginning of their relationship, after the incident with the cannibals, when Jack had to be extremely careful about comments like that. After one regrettable instance of speaking without thinking, followed by a long evening of trying to soothe Ianto out of a panic attack, Jack had quickly learned that, unsurprisingly, the threat of slowly being bled to death to make his meat sweeter had left Ianto with a very low tolerance for remarks about how edible he looked, no matter how obvious it was what Jack actually meant. It hadn’t exactly helped that they were still trying to find their feet with each other at the time.

Passing time and their relationship growing stronger eventually made the aversion fade, as Jack knew it would. Somewhere along the line when the words ‘you look good enough to eat’ stopped making Ianto shudder with horror and instead started to send shivers of an entirely different kind racing up and down his spine, he also developed quite a fondness for love bites. Jack always suspected that it had something to do with an unconscious effort on Ianto’s part to overcome the fear by replacing bad memories with good ones.

Well, whatever the reason, Jack was grateful for it, because it meant that he could stand here and nibble at Ianto’s neck to his heart’s content.

With one more lick up said neck, Jack pulled away, taking Ianto’s hand and inclining his head in the direction of the bedroom. “Come on, let’s get comfortable.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some life affirming sex happening in this one ;)

Ianto followed without protest, a soft smile spreading over his features. He could feel the undercurrent of an urgent need for something radiate off Jack, but despite that, the atmosphere that settled around them was calm and unhurried, and Ianto loved it. Normally, Torchwood and everything that went with it took priority over just about anything else, and there didn’t often seem to be much time to really take things slow. It had gotten better since Jack moved out of the Hub and into Ianto’s flat, but still…

On the way through the living room, Jack caught a glimpse of the clothes they had shed earlier, and he had to suppress a shudder. He’d have to get rid of those later. Not his coat, of course. It would be a bitch to clean—Jack made a mental note to take care of that himself this time; he didn’t want to make Ianto clean his own blood out of Jack’s clothes—but he was much too fond of it. But the rest of the clothes would have to go. Ianto’s were in pieces, and as for his own, Jack knew that he would never wear that shirt again, even if no visible stain remained.

With some effort, Jack wrenched his mind away from that line of thought. They could take care of destroying the reminders in the morning. Right now, Jack could think of much more pleasant things to do.

When they reached their destination, Ianto spread himself out on the bed, flat on his back, and looked up at Jack through lowered lashes. Jack’s breath caught at the heat he saw in those blue-grey eyes, and a spark of desire ignited in the pit of his stomach. The urge to jump Ianto and take him right there and then was overwhelming, but Jack made himself take a deep breath and calm down. For once, there was no need to rush, and he wanted this to last.

Climbing onto the bed, Jack straddled Ianto’s thighs and splayed his hands out over his lover’s chest. For a moment, he let his eyes roam over the man beneath him, taking in the pattern of dark chest hair against milky skin and admiring the strong physique—a byproduct of a physically demanding job.

Ianto brought his hands up to rest on Jack’s thighs, but he made no move to speed up the action, content to go along with whatever Jack had planned. He could practically feel his partner’s gaze on him and he had to resist the urge to squirm. It wasn’t that Ianto was unaware that he was attractive—he’d shamelessly made use of the fact to get this job— but he’d never considered himself to be that special, and the frank admiration in Jack’s eyes made a blush rise to his cheeks.

Without even being aware of it, Jack slowly began to run his hands from Ianto’s chest, down his sides, over his stomach and back to his chest, over and over, trying to dispel the images of far too much blood and torn flesh that still lingered at the back of his mind.

Leaning down, Jack placed a kiss to the centre of his partner’s chest, revelling in the feeling of warm, undamaged skin under his lips, and in the knowledge that Ianto was still alive.

Ianto was still alive.

Realisation suddenly struck Jack full force. Ianto had died, and then he’d come back to life, which meant… A grin began to spread over Jack’s face. It meant that a promise he hadn’t really dared to believe had just been proven to be true. For all intents and purposes, Ianto was immortal; Jack would never have to lose him.

A wave of intense joy and relief flooded through Jack, and he moved up to capture his lover’s mouth with his own. His eyes fluttered shut as he relished the feeling of those oh-so-soft lips against his, and when Ianto’s mouth opened invitingly, Jack slipped his tongue into the wet warmth.

They took their time, tongues sliding against each other, savouring tastes and textures that were that intoxicating combination of familiar and exciting. Ianto’s hands travelled up to Jack’s waist, and Jack’s framed Ianto’s face, fingers buried in still-damp hair. Swallowing the soft moan that tumbled from Ianto’s lips, Jack answered it with one of his own.

After one more slow sweep of his partner’s mouth, Jack pulled away a little, gazing down at Ianto, who smiled at him serenely. He smiled back, leaning forward to place a light kiss on the tip of Ianto’s nose—it was, in Jack’s opinion, such a very kissable nose.

As Jack pushed himself back to an upright kneeling position, carefully distributing his weight between his own calves and Ianto’s thighs, Ianto blinked up at his partner. There was an expression of something that could almost be called awe in Jack’s eyes that he had never seen before.

“You’re not going to die,” Jack said, and the same awe that was visible in his eyes was also reflected in his voice.

“So it would seem,” Ianto replied softly, smiling at Jack reassuringly. He had to admit that even by Torchwood standards, this whole situation was bizarre. Not that he was complaining, on the contrary. His mortality had cast a constant shadow over their relationship, and now that it suddenly wasn’t an issue anymore, Ianto felt elated. But that didn’t make it any less surreal.

He’d died. He remembered the pain and losing consciousness. He remembered Death, remembered her telling him how to get back. And now here he was, alive and whole.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Ianto reached for Jack and guided him down. “I can stay with you,” he whispered, lips brushing against Jack’s ear with every word. A tremor ran through Jack and he turned his head to attach his mouth to Ianto’s neck. And then all of a sudden, Ianto found himself being worshipped.

Gentle fingers roamed his body, stroking and caressing, finding every sensitive spot with practised ease. When Jack’s hands skimmed down his sides, lingering over his hipbones, Ianto couldn’t help but arch into the touch.

With his hands thus occupied, Jack kissed a line down Ianto’s neck, sucking at the pulse point, and licking at his Adam’s apple and into the hollow of his throat before moving further down.

It didn’t take long until Ianto was writhing helplessly as Jack used his mouth and hands to demonstrate just how much he cherished him, how happy he was to have Ianto by his side during the endless stretch of future before them.

Every nerve in Ianto’s body was alight with sensation. The stream of needy whimpers that spilled from his lips segued into a keening gasp when Jack’s questing hands brushed against his inner thighs—up and down, so close and yet so far away from where he wanted those fingers to go. The touch so slow and feather-light that Ianto thought he’d go mad from it.

“Oh God… Jack… I need… Please… I can’t… Please, Jack…”

Jack smirked. He loved it when Ianto came apart under his ministrations like this, the mask of carefully maintained control slipping out of place. Loved that he was the only one who got to see Ianto like this.

Ianto’s hands clenched and unclenched against Jack’s back, scrabbling for purchase, before finally cupping his arse and roughly pulling their hips together. And inarticulate sound tore from Jack’s throat as the unexpected move sent shocks of pleasure through his body.

Ianto took advantage of the moment of distraction, slinging one arm around Jack and flipping them over.

It took Jack a few seconds to regain his bearings after the sudden change of position, and Ianto couldn’t suppress a smirk at the startled expression on his lover’s features. Then Jack wrapped his legs around Ianto’s waist, making it unmistakably clear what he wanted, and a shiver of anticipation ran down Ianto’s spine.

Ianto was well aware that if the rest of the team had ever given it any thought, they’d have him pegged as the bottom—some of Owen’s less subtle snipes said as much—but the truth was that neither he nor Jack saw the point in confining themselves to a single role. And there was a special pleasure in knowing that Jack trusted him enough to hand over control.

His eyes never leaving his partner’s, Ianto leaned over to the bedside table and opened the drawer, smiling at the way Jack twisted to follow his movement. Fumbling in the drawer for a moment, Ianto’s fingers finally closed around a little tube.

With his prize in hand, he settled himself back on top of his partner and very deliberately licked his lips. Jack swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and Ianto’s smile turned positively predatory.

He leaned down to kiss Jack, but pulled away before the other man could deepen it. Making sure that he had his lover’s full attention, Ianto opened the lube and began to coat his fingers.

“Tell me what you want, Jack.”

The tone of Ianto’s voice—demanding and yet soft—made Jack’s heart flutter, and his throat went dry at the sight of Ianto slicking up his fingers.

“You know what I want.” Jack bucked his hips to emphasise his point.

Leaning forward until his mouth was level with his partner’s ear, Ianto whispered, “Tell me.”

“Inside,” Jack rasped. “I want you inside me.”

Chuckling, Ianto took the other man’s earlobe into his mouth, suckling on it, and reached between them. He prepared Jack gently, feeling warm gratification spread through him with every moan he coaxed out of his lover, the whimper he couldn’t suppress when Ianto crooked his fingers just so, the gasp when he touched right there. It didn’t take long until Jack was the one begging for more, faster, something, oh _please_!

Coherent thought deserted Jack and the world fell away, until there was only Ianto—the nimble fingers opening him up, his other hand caressing Jack’s hips, his sides, his chest, tweaking his nipples, the hot tongue lapping at his neck. Giddily, Jack wondered if Ianto had somehow managed to acquire extra limbs, because there didn’t seem to be any part of him that wasn’t being touched.

He let himself get lost in the sensation, until he felt like he wouldn’t be able to stand the torturously slow pace any longer. Arching his back, he tried to convey that he was ready, couldn’t humanly get any readier, and needed Ianto to get a move on now.

Ianto could tell that neither of them would last much longer, so he was more than happy to comply. Slicking himself up, he pushed into the velvety heat of his lover’s body as slowly as he could, not stopping until he was all the way inside.

Jack’s mouth opened in a silent gasp at the delicious contrast between the burn of being stretched and the intense pleasure of being filled. He could feel everything like this—every twitch and quiver of Ianto’s body transferred straight to his.

They held still for a moment, trying to regain some semblance of control, relishing the feeling of closeness, all barriers stripped away. Then Ianto rolled his hips, and both men moaned.

They moved together as one, losing themselves in the familiar rhythm; every move, every sound of pleasure brought them closer to the edge. It didn’t take long until orgasm welled up from deep inside, cresting and breaking over them as they came with a two-voiced shout.

When the world righted itself, Jack felt boneless and lax, mind awash in sated bliss. Ianto had rolled off him, lying sprawled on the bed beside his partner. The utterly content expression on his face made Jack smile.

With some effort, Ianto propped himself up on one elbow. Taking in the state they were in, he shook his head and chuckled. “So much for that shower.” He made a move to get up to fetch a washcloth, but Jack’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“No, let me.”

Lying back down, Ianto let himself drift in the haze of afterglow. He wasn’t even aware that Jack had returned from the bathroom until he felt something damp being wiped across his stomach. The motion was tender, gentle, and Ianto hummed happily.

As he was cleaning them up, Jack’s mind cleared. The panic at seeing Ianto die had faded away, and so had the desperate need to reassure himself that death hadn’t been the end, leaving his mind free to pursue other topics.

Putting the washcloth down on the bedside table, he turned onto his side, facing Ianto, and rested his hand on the young man’s belly. He smiled when Ianto brought one of hands up to lie on top of Jack’s, twining their fingers together. Lost in thought, his gaze remained fixed on their joined hands.

Finally, Ianto broke the silence.

“I thought you said there was nothing.” He didn’t need to elaborate what he meant. “Just darkness.”

Surprised, Jack looked up to meet his lover’s eyes. “Why? What did you see?”

Ianto shifted around, so that he could look at Jack properly. “It wasn’t dark, it was…” He searched for words and came up blank. “Well, not dark.”

Jack watched as Ianto’s eyes glazed over with recollection. This was new. He remembered Owen talking about the darkness when he’d died the first time in the other timeline, and none of the people brought back with the Resurrection Gauntlet—_Risen Mitten_, his mind supplied in Ianto’s voice—had contradicted that information. It made him wonder what was different here.

Fascinated, he listened as Ianto continued. “I couldn’t feel anything, like I wasn’t actually there, except I could see myself.”

Ianto paused, stroking his thumb over the back of Jack’s hand without disentangling their fingers. “Do you remember that dream I had after you—?” He stopped, not quite sure how to label the point in time. “When Death told me I didn’t have to die.” Jack nodded. “She was there, too.”

“Why?” The idea made Jack edgy. True, Death seemed to be in favour of Ianto’s continued existence, but there was something disconcerting about the thought of her waiting for him on the other side, considering that she could probably snuff Ianto’s life out like a candle if she wanted to.

Ianto shrugged. “She said she wanted to check how I was doing. Then she told me that I could get back by thinking about what I wanted to go back for, so I did.”

“So you had to choose to come back?” It wasn’t quite a question.

“Yep.”

“And…it didn’t hurt?” Of course, Ianto had already told him that he hadn’t been in pain when he’d revived, but Jack couldn’t help worrying that he’d only said it to ease his lover’s mind. Jack had experienced death by being run through before, and he remembered how long it had taken him to recover completely afterwards.

“No. The pins and needles thing was unpleasant, but not really painful,” Ianto assured him, and then added, “It was a bit abrupt, though. I’ll have to see if I can ask to be returned more gently next time.”

Jack shuddered. “I’d rather there wasn’t a next time.”

There _would_ be a next time, of course—it was inevitable with their job—but he was only now really coming to appreciate why Ianto didn’t like to see him die. Knowing that it wouldn’t be permanent didn’t make watching the death of a loved one any easier. Not really.

In lieu of a response, Ianto leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips before settling back down. “I take it it’s different for you.”

Jack let go of his hand and started to draw intricate patterns on his partner’s chest with his index finger. Just when Ianto was beginning to think that he wouldn’t say anything, Jack’s voice broke the silence.

“There’s nothing. Just darkness. No sound, nothing. Coming back to life is painful, and sometimes—” He stopped, unsure how much he could tell Ianto without burdening him with the knowledge, but then ploughed on. “Sometimes, it takes a while to heal completely after a particularly messy death. I just want to make sure…”

He trailed off, but Ianto knew what he meant. He’d sat with Jack waiting for that first gasp of life often enough to know that not all injuries were gone immediately. It was only natural that Jack would assume it had been the same for him.

“Honestly, it wasn’t so bad,” Ianto said reassuringly. “I was a bit light-headed for a while—I guess that might have been something left over from the blood loss—but no pain, I promise.”

Actually, now that he really thought about it, it seemed unlikely that the light-headedness had been caused by the blood loss. If he took Jack’s revivals as a point of comparison and considered the amount of blood he must have lost, residual effects of that would likely have meant that he wouldn’t have been able to stand upright without fainting. Which begged the question why his immortality seemed to work differently from Jack’s.

He turned onto his side, facing his partner. Propping his head up on one hand, he sighed softly when Jack’s hand slid up to caress his side. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Jack had hardly stopped touching him all this time—an anchor and comfort, if Ianto were any judge—and he had to admit that he rather enjoyed the attention.

“I wonder why it’s so different for you,” Jack voiced what they were both thinking. Of course, he was glad that Ianto would be spared the agony of painful revivals—dying was bad enough without that addition—but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t curious.

Ianto tilted his head in thought. “How exactly did you become immortal?”

It was something that Jack never really talked about, certainly not in any detail, and up to now, Ianto hadn’t seen a reason to push for answers. But now it might offer some clues.

Seeing that Jack seemed unsure where to start, Ianto prompted, “You said it had something to do with the Doctor.”

“Yeah. I was travelling with him.”

In broad strokes, Jack outlined the time he’d spend with the Doctor and Rose Tyler, but left out how he’d come to meet them in the first place. That was a story for another day; one he fully intended to tell Ianto, just not right now. He didn’t want to dwell on his conman past today.

“There was a war. The last Time War.” Jack laughed self-deprecatingly. “I used to be a coward, you know. But the Doctor, he made me want to be a better person.”

He told Ianto how he had gathered a group of people who were willing to fight, and how they had tried to delay the Daleks long enough to give the Doctor the time he needed.

“I remember being shot by the Daleks. And then I woke up. The Doctor and Rose were gone. I figured they must have believed that I was dead; hell, I didn’t know why I wasn’t dead myself. It wasn’t until a few deaths later that I realised that I couldn’t actually die, and even then, I still didn’t know _why_. I was hoping that if I found the Doctor again, he might be able to explain.”

“I always suspected you were waiting for the Doctor,” Ianto said slowly. “I just didn’t know why. I thought—” Something unreadable passed across his face. “I don’t know what I thought.”

Jack could imagine in what direction his lover’s mind had gone, though. “I’m sorry that I ran off the way I did.” _Sorry I made you feel like you were just a way to pass the time until someone better came along._ “But I needed to know what happened to me, and if it could be undone. I couldn’t risk missing him.”

Ianto’s expression cleared immediately. “I know.” He didn’t have those doubts anymore, not after what Jack had done for him. Scooting closer, he pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of the older man’s mouth. “Did you get your answers?”

Jack nodded. “Rose looked into the heart of the TARDIS, absorbing the Time Vortex. It gave her the power to bring me back to life, except that she had no control over it. According to the Doctor, it turned me into a fixed point in time and space.”

Ianto frowned. “Why didn’t he get in touch with you when he worked that out?”

“He already knew when he left me behind,” Jack said, bitterness bleeding into his voice. “He left me behind _because_ of it.” Swallowing, he fought to pull himself together. The memory of the Doctor’s words still stung. “He said that I was wrong, that he could hardly bear to look at me.”

Jack saw fire blaze in Ianto’s eyes, and he was suddenly reminded that when the young man loved, he loved with almost frightening intensity and loyalty. If the Doctor ever met Ianto, he’d better watch himself.

Shutting the burst of anger away in the back of his mind, Ianto steered the conversation back to the point. “Did Rose do it so she could bring you back, or…?” He left the sentence hanging.

Jack shook his head. “I think she wanted to help the Doctor. She can’t have been sure what would happen—the last person who looked into the TARDIS was an alien, and it turned her back into an egg.”

“An egg?” Shaking his head, Ianto made a conscious effort to stop himself from getting sidetracked. “Anyway, Rose didn’t plan to make you immortal. It was an accident.”

“I guess you could say that.” Jack looked at his partner incredulously. “So what, you’re saying it’s different for you because you’re more _naturally_ immortal?”

Ianto couldn’t help but laugh at that. “No, but when Death arranged to keep me alive, I assume she knew what she was doing. It wasn’t an accident; it was deliberate and thought through.” An idea stirred in the deep recesses of his mind, but it dissolved again before he could examine it, so he left it be. If it were important, it would occur to him again when it was more fully formed.

Jack inclined his head, conceding the point. “What about the people we’ve brought back with the Glove?”

“I doubt it was ever intended to be used on humans…or _by_ humans, for that matter. And just because we got it to do something doesn’t mean we’re using it right.” Ianto shrugged. “Or who knows, maybe I’m just lucky.” He winked, an almost suggestive smile playing across his lips, and Jack felt something inside him loosen and relax.

Companionable silence settled over the room, as Jack’s hands resumed mapping his partner’s body, and Ianto let himself drop back against the pillows, basking in the tender caress.

When one of Jack’s fingers grazed the sensitive skin just above a hipbone softly, Ianto twitched slightly, and Jack raised an eyebrow. Interesting. He hadn’t noticed that Ianto was ticklish before. It was a discovery that warranted closer inspection.

He could feel Ianto’s eyes on him, watching him curiously, but Jack was utterly engrossed in what he was doing.

Applying just a little more pressure to the intriguing patch of skin made Ianto arch into the touch, while stroking more lightly elicited something akin to a purr. But if he brushed his fingers across it just like that…

Ianto twitched again, and a smirk curled the corners of Jack’s mouth. If his lover were ticklish there, he was probably ticklish elsewhere as well. It was just a question of finding out where.

Their eyes met. Understanding dawned on Ianto’s face, and a spark of mischief jumped from one man to the other. They launched themselves at each other almost at the same moment.

In a flurry of arms and legs, they tried to pin each other to the mattress, fingers skimming across ribs, vertebrae and hips. After some grappling, Jack managed to flip Ianto onto his stomach, restraining him by straddling his thighs, and grabbed a flailing leg.

With a devilish grin, Jack trailed a fingernail down the sole of Ianto’s foot, delighting in the undignified squeal that escaped the younger man. The leg in Jack’s grasp jerked helplessly, but he held on tightly.

Just as Jack was about to try finding out what other sounds he could get out of his partner, Ianto twisted beneath him, and a pillow hit Jack squarely in the face.

The moment of surprise was enough for Ianto to wriggle free, and he lunged at the other man, still brandishing the pillow in one hand. With a yelp, Jack grabbed a pillow of his own. Between swinging the pillow and ducking away from Ianto’s attacks, Jack’s eyes took in his lover.

Ianto’s usual maturity and restraint had fallen away from him, exposing a core of carefree energy and mirth. His blue-grey eyes sparkled, and Jack’s heart suddenly swelled with so much love that he thought it might burst.

Then Ianto dove at him again and they tumbled onto the bed. Soon the helpless laughter mingled with the shriek Jack let out when Ianto found a particular spot on his lover’s lower back, and Ianto’s squeak as Jack attacked his feet again. They lost hold of the pillows at some point, and more than once it was only sheer luck that stopped them falling off the bed.

A particularly spirited tackle knocked Jack backwards. He grabbed Ianto as he fell, pulling his partner down on top of him. They went still, Jack’s hands on Ianto’s biceps and their faces mere inches apart. As the laughter petered out, the only sound left in the room was that of heavy panting.

Jack could feel Ianto’s breath hot on his face, and his mind flashed back to another time, when they had lain exactly like this, albeit fully clothed, on the floor of an empty warehouse, after rolling out of the way of a falling pteranodon. High on adrenaline and with the other man so close, Jack had been tempted to kiss Ianto then, and would have done so if Ianto hadn’t gotten up when he did. Sometimes, Jack wondered what would have happened if he had given in to the temptation back then.

Their eyes locked, and the idle speculation faded to nothing. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that everything had worked out in the end, and Jack wouldn’t change a thing about their sometimes-turbulent past if it meant risking what they had.

Jack wrapped his hands around the back of his lover’s neck and pulled him down, closing the space between them.

This wasn’t about sex; it was gentle kisses and tender touches, and when Jack lowered his mouth and sucked a purple hickey on Ianto’s neck, high enough that his shirt’s collar wouldn’t hide it, it wasn’t about staking his claim, although that was a nice bonus. It was something altogether deeper and far too intense for either man to put into words.

Some time later, Ianto was sprawled across Jack, his head pillowed on the other man’s chest. Tilting his head back to look at his partner, he asked, “So, what are we going to tell the others?”

Jack sighed. “I don’t know.” Absentmindedly, he started to stroke Ianto’s hair. “I’d rather not tell them what really happened, you know?”

Ianto nodded. He could certainly understand why Jack didn’t want to bring those painful memories back to the surface.

Jack scoffed. “Actually, I’ve got half a mind to just go along with Owen’s STD idea.”

“Why don’t you, then?”

Surprised, Jack looked at his partner. “And you’d be okay with discussing our sex life in front of them?”

“Since when has my objecting to that ever stopped you?” Ianto said, straight-faced, laughing when Jack flicked his ear in retaliation. “Seriously, though, it’s probably the one thing that’ll stop them from asking questions. Owen wouldn’t demand details for fear that you might actually give them, and I doubt that Gwen wants to know what we get up to. And Tosh, well, she might figure out that it’s a diversion tactic, but she knows better than to push for information you don’t want to share.”

Jack had to admit that Ianto had a point. He grinned at the thought of what he could tell the team—if they were going to do it this way, he might as well have some fun with it.

Seeing the expression on his partner’s face, Ianto rolled his eyes. “I’m going to regret suggesting that, aren’t I?” he said, failing to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Hey, no backing out now,” Jack mock-chided.

Chuckling quietly, Ianto settled himself against his lover’s side and closed his eyes.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?” Jack asked.

“Hmm,” Ianto hummed, already drifting off.

Smiling fondly, Jack kissed his lover’s forehead. He didn’t begrudge the young man the advantages of his brand of immortality, not at all. In fact, he was quite relieved that bringing Ianto back hadn’t condemned him to the same discomforts that came with Jack’s.

Pulling Ianto just a little closer, Jack closed his eyes and listened to the other man’s breathing. With a bit of luck, he’d get a few hours’ sleep today as well.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing Ianto was aware of when he woke up the next morning was the warmth of Jack’s body against his back. He rolled over, blinking blearily at his partner.

Jack was reading—since he was usually awake long before Ianto, he’d taken to keeping a book on the bedside table. When he felt the other man stir beside him, he looked up from the page.

“Sleep well?”

“Hmm. M’rnin’,” Ianto mumbled.

Jack bit down on the laughter that bubbled up in his chest as Ianto all but fell out of the bed and stumbled towards the bathroom. There was something incredibly charming about how uncoordinated Ianto was first thing in the morning. It was so very different from the careful poise and grace he carried himself with at all other times. The mussed hair and slight shadow of stubble only added to the overall image.

Leaving his lover to his morning routine, Jack turned his attention back to his book.

_“He put the good old cup of tea softly on the table by my bed, and I took a refreshing sip. Just right, as usual. Not too hot, not too sweet, not too weak, not too strong, not too much milk, and not a drop spilled in the saucer. A most amazing cove, Jeeves.”_

Jack grinned to himself. He’d always enjoyed Wodehouse’s writing, having lived through the time the stories took place in, but one of the things he liked most about it now was how much the character of Jeeves reminded him of Ianto. It wasn’t only the way Ianto always seemed to know the answer to everything, or the way he appeared just when he was needed and knew _what_ was needed, but they also had the same understated dry wit, deadpan delivery, and an innate ability to make, “Very good, sir,” sound like an admonishment.

Just for a moment, Jack indulged himself in a fantasy of Ianto being his valet. It was worth bearing in mind for a bit of role-playing at some point.

Hearing his partner leave the bathroom, Jack stowed the thought away for later and got up to get himself ready. By the time he was ready, the smell of coffee and toast caressed his nostrils, and his stomach rumbled.

Despite the niggling feeling of hunger, Jack took some time to lean in the doorway to the kitchen and watched Ianto go about the business of preparing breakfast. He wasn’t wearing his jacket and tie yet, the sleeves of his deep purple shirt were rolled up and the waistcoat was unbuttoned, but apart from that, he was back to his normal self.

Ianto bent down to get the jam out of the fridge, and Jack appreciatively eyed the way his trousers hugged his arse. Without turning around, Ianto said, “You know, if you’re going to stand there, you might as well give me a hand,” in a conversational tone of voice.

On cue, Jack sprang into action, setting the table. Smirking, he smacked that enticing butt lightly when he walked past Ianto, earning himself an indulgent eye roll from the other man, while his lover finished preparing the coffee.

Soon, they would be caught up in the daily grind of Torchwood again, but for now, they still had a little time to themselves, and they had every intention to make the most of it.

When Jack and Ianto arrived at the Hub an hour later, the rest of the team was already there. Tosh hurried over as soon as she saw them. She hugged Ianto tightly, and Jack wondered how much detail Owen and Gwen had gone into when they told her what happened. The only other time he’d seen Tosh so unselfconsciously get into someone else’s personal space had been after Abaddon, when Jack had come back to life after being dead so long that the team had thought he’d be gone for good.

Ianto put his arms around Tosh and hugged her back—partly to reassure her that he was fine, and partly just out of faint relief that someone seemed more concerned about his wellbeing than the _how_—before letting her go.

In the meantime, neither Gwen nor Owen had moved from where they were standing at the centre of the Hub. Gwen’s arms were folded in front of her chest and her expression was a mix of demanding and challenging, while Owen looked torn between wanting to talk to Jack and dragging Ianto to the autopsy bay to subject him to every test he could think of to make sense of what was going on.

Forestalling all comments, Jack said, “Staff meeting.”

While the others filed up to the meeting room, Ianto detoured to the small kitchen area. They would probably need coffee before the meeting was over, and Ianto hoped that he could use the time it took to brew it to steel himself for the upcoming conversation. It wasn’t that he’d changed his mind about what best to tell the team, but it was bound to get embarrassing.

The others where waiting for him when he joined them in the meeting room, carrying a tray of mugs. Owen watched Ianto with a critical eye as the other man handed out the coffee, before turning to Jack.

“Okay, time to come clean.” Owen pointed at Ianto. “He got run through yesterday, and now he’s not even in pain. I’m prepared to bet that he doesn’t have so much as a scar.”

“He’s also standing right here and there’s nothing wrong with his ears,” Ianto said dryly, taking his usual seat to Jack’s right.

Owen ignored him. “That can’t possibly be natural, so spill. How the fuck did that happen?”

Jack and Ianto exchanged a glance.

“Well,” Jack said cheerfully, “you know how you asked if my immortality was sexually transmitted…?” He let his voice trail off and gave Owen the most suggestive grin he could muster.

“What?” Gwen sounded confused, but realisation dawned almost instantly. Her eyes alighted on the hickey on Ianto’s neck, a very odd expression on her face. “Are you seriously trying to tell us that Ianto is immortal because you…?”

“…service him regularly,” Jack finished with a leer.

Tosh made a half-choked noise that sounded suspiciously as if she were trying not to laugh, and Ianto closed his eyes, desperately willing himself not to blush.

“Of course,” Jack went on wistfully, “I’m not always the one doing the servicing. Actually, sometimes—”

“Stop right there!” Owen interrupted. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“You did ask, you know,” Jack pointed out.

Owen wasn’t going to dignify that with a reply. “You can’t honestly expect us to believe that. If everyone you slept with turned immortal, we’d have a serious overpopulation problem.” Judging by his tone of voice, it was anyone’s guess if he were trying to convince Jack or himself.

Jack shrugged, unconcerned. “It’s not like the immortality came with instructions. Maybe it’s a question of frequency and method. Like that one time, right here…” He let his eyes mist over with the memory, before addressing Ianto. “If I’d known you were that bendy, I would have suggested something like that much sooner.”

Ianto could feel himself flush bright red. He remembered that day quite clearly. It had been well worth the resulting strained muscles, especially when Jack had insisted on giving him a massage afterwards. He consciously stopped himself from squirming. It really wasn’t helping that Tosh seemed on the verge of losing the fight against a giggling fit. There was a hint of recollection in her eyes as well, and Ianto made a mental note to be more thorough when deleting CCTV footage.

Owen brought his hands up in a warding off gesture and decided to change tack. “Okay, let’s assume for a moment that we buy that Ianto somehow caught immortality from you. Does that mean he isn’t going to age anymore either?”

Jack opened his mouth, and Owen knew, he just _knew_, that he was about to make a comment about drinking from the Fountain of Youth.

“Don’t!” he cut across Jack, pushing away the mental image of Ianto kneeling in front of the other man. “Just don’t.”

Getting up rather abruptly, Owen grabbed his coffee and stalked out of the room, muttering under his breath and slamming the door behind him.

Gwen’s gaze was fixed on Jack, her jaw working as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite make up her mind what, and Jack wondered if she’d keep pushing the issue. There was something in her eyes that Jack couldn’t quite identify—it could be pleading, or discontent, or possibly even envy. But then she wordlessly followed Owen out of the room.

Taking a deep breath to regain control, Tosh got up as well. Before she left, she put her hand on Ianto’s shoulder and said, “I’m glad you’re okay.” And then she was gone, too.

When they were alone again, Jack sat back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. “That went rather well, don’t you think?” He winked at the younger man.

Ianto rolled his eyes. “You enjoyed that way too much,” he said, but there was no rancour in his voice.

“It’s hardly my fault that red looks so fetching on you,” Jack teased, eyes lingering on the blush still staining his lover’s cheeks.

Chuckling softly, Ianto shook his head. Sometimes it surprised him that prolonged exposure to Jack hadn’t rendered him incapable of blushing yet. “Owen will probably want to run tests anyway.”

“Of course,” Jack agreed. “I don’t think there was ever any way to avoid that, but at least there shouldn’t be so many questions now.”

They shared a knowing look, both perfectly aware that it wasn’t really _Owen’s_ questions Jack had worried about. After all, Owen would eventually have given up if they’d refused to answer.

Finishing his coffee in one large gulp, Ianto got up. “Might as well get it over with, I guess.”

Before Ianto reached the door, Jack had gotten up as well and stepped into his path. He took the young man in his arms and planted a quick kiss on his lips, just because he could.

Letting go reluctantly, Jack nodded in the direction of the door. “Go on, then.”

As he watched Ianto make his way to Owen’s domain, quietly appreciating the way the suit accentuated the lines of his lover’s body, Jack wondered if Owen would find anything. Even though he doubted that there was a satisfactory physical explanation for Ianto’s immortality, he couldn’t be sure. After all, he didn’t know how his own immortality worked, let alone Ianto’s. Still, regardless of the result, knowing that Owen was on the case would hopefully at least keep Gwen off their backs.

***

Owen glared at the last set of test results, comparing them to Ianto’s old medical files, staring at them as if he was hoping that sheer willpower could make a difference appear. At this stage, he’d happily have accepted the minutest change, anything at all that could at least give the illusion that there was a scientific or medical reason why Ianto hadn’t stayed dead, but there was nothing. Absolutely _nothing_.

He’d gone through every test he could think of, including all possible STD checks. Under normal circumstances, he’d have taken great pleasure in asking all sorts of embarrassing questions to go with them, but the one time he’d given in to the impulse, Ianto had launched into what threatened to turn into a rather detailed answer. Owen had shut him up before he could get very far, doing his best to ignore Ianto’s knowing smirk and vowing that he’d rather bite off his own tongue than ask again.

“Anything?” Ianto asked from where he was sitting on the autopsy table. Owen made a growling sound that managed to be far more eloquent than any words could have been. “Right, well, let me know if you need me for anything else.”

After rolling his sleeves back down, Ianto left, but Owen hardly noticed. This wasn’t possible. Ianto couldn’t be completely unchanged and come back to life, and after a very messy death at that. God, he needed a drink!

Making up his mind, Owen grabbed his jacket. At the top of the stairs that connected the autopsy bay to the Hub, he reconsidered. As tempting as getting absolutely hammered sounded, preferably to the point where he wouldn’t remember any of this, he knew that the resulting hangover wouldn’t really be worth it. And besides, he could do with someone to talk to.

He considered inviting Gwen to join him, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Gwen had her own issues with this situation and would be far too focused on that to pay attention to Owen. No, what he needed was someone capable of listening, with a steadying presence to balance out the turmoil in his own head. It struck Owen as somewhat ironic that during the time they had struggled to cope with Jack’s disappearance, Ianto had been the one Owen went to the pub with for exactly this purpose—reluctantly at first, but more readily once they started to develop a friendship of sorts. Still, he couldn’t talk to Ianto about this, and Jack was right out as well. That left Tosh…

Well, she’d mentioned wanting to go out with him anyway, hadn’t she? Might as well kill two birds with one stone and use this opportunity to give it a try.

Twenty minutes later, Tosh and Owen were sitting in Owen’s living room—Owen sprawled out with his feet on the table, and Tosh slightly unsure how comfortable she could make herself—having opted for the privacy to talk freely without having to worry about being overheard over the advantages the neutrality of a pub would have offered.

Owen had spent the last few minutes venting his frustration about the total lack of abnormalities in Ianto’s test results and was now glowering into his beer. Tosh settled herself a bit further against the backrest and tried to ignore the tiny nervous roll in her stomach at being here. Her eyes took in Owen’s apartment—spacious and well furnished, but tidy in a way that suggested the occupant spent a lot of time at work; just like hers, really—while she let her mind mull over what Owen had told her.

“Have you tried comparing Ianto’s results to some of Jack’s?”

Owen scoffed. “Have you ever _seen_ Jack’s medical files?” He didn’t pause. He wasn’t really asking anyway. “At some point someone must have mucked about with his genetic code, and I swear there’s some stuff in there that’s alien of a sort. And judging by how blasé he is about sexual relations with aliens…” Taking a swig of beer, Owen tried not to think of some of Jack’s more colourful stories. “He’s only human by a somewhat loose definition, and there’s no way of knowing which of the differences cause his immortality, if any. I’m not going to find out what happened to Ianto that way.”

“Why don’t you narrow down what exactly it is you’re looking for? If you talked to them—”

“Oh no,” Owen cut in. “I’m perfectly happy not knowing what those two get up to, thank you very much. I’d rather not hear how much of a miracle it is that they haven’t wrecked all the furniture in the Hub yet, or whatever.”

A thoughtful look entered Tosh’s eyes at that. “Maybe that’s the point.”

Owen frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it awfully convenient that you suggested sexually transmitted immortality, and then it turns out that that’s exactly what it is? And if it were true, why not just agree with you when you first said it?”

“Maybe, but why…?”

“Well, think about it. Suppose the real reason is something they don’t want to talk about. What’s the one thing that would make all of us back off?”

Owen had to concede that Tosh might be on to something. “What’s the point, though? It’s not like he ever told us anything about himself before. I don’t even remember how many of our questions he’s evaded over the years.”

“Yes, but _we_ always used to stop asking eventually,” Tosh said pointedly.

The subtle emphasis was not lost on Owen. He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “So what now?” he asked. “Confront him and make him own up?”

“Do we actually need to know?” Tosh asked carefully. She was extremely grateful that Jack had never told the rest of the team about her history with UNIT, and she felt she owed him some privacy in return. She trusted Jack to tell them if Ianto’s apparent immortality were to have an impact on all of them, but as it was…

“Of course we need to know.” Owen bristled visibly. “Ianto was _dead_! Blood everywhere, gaping hole through the chest, the works. Then he came to, and a day later nobody would have been able to tell that anything happened at all. It’s bad enough with Jack, but at least he’s _different_. Every single test I ran says that Ianto is as human as you and I, and it’s not bloody _possible_!”

Tosh winced. She could have done without the reminder. With some difficulty, she pushed the mental images away. “Is there any chance that you missed something?”

Owen scoffed and shook his head. “No.”

“Then anything Jack could tell us is irrelevant,” Tosh reasoned. “Knowing why Ianto didn’t die is not going to magically make a change appear in his test results.”

For a moment, it looked as if Owen would protest, but then he sagged in defeat. Tosh was right, of course: even finding out what had happened to Ianto wouldn’t bring him any closer to a scientific explanation of how it was possible.

Conceding the point didn’t mean he had to like it, though.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Let Harkness keep his secrets.” God knew it wasn’t the only one by a long stretch. “But we should at least tell him that we know,” he added decisively. Just because he was willing to, reluctantly, stop asking questions, he wouldn’t let Jack get away with thinking they could be fooled so easily.

Tosh nodded her agreement, before finishing her drink and getting up. “I should probably be heading home.”

Putting his own drink on the table, Owen got up as well. “Yeah, listen, I know this wasn’t quite what you had in mind when—”

“It’s okay,” Tosh interrupted him. “Another time.”

“Yeah.” There was a moment of awkward silence. “I guess I’ll see you at work.”

It might have sounded like a dismissal, but Owen did walk her to the door. It wasn’t much, maybe, but it was a start.

***

Jack was in his office when Owen and Tosh approached him the next day. He looked up from his work, his gaze falling on the folders Owen was carrying.

“Did you find something?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“No.” Owen dropped the folders onto the desk. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

Jack crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “Did I?”

Owen snorted. “Sexually transmitted immortality, my arse.”

“It’s all right,” Tosh quickly put in. Owen might have agreed to let things be, but she could feel a standoff brewing, both men too stubborn to give in. “You don’t have to tell us. If you ever want to talk about it, though…”

She let the sentence trail off and gave Jack an intent look.

Jack nodded at her gratefully. He had to admit that although he would have been happy if they’d bought his story, he couldn’t help feeling proud of them. So clever, his team.

Deliberately shuffling the papers on his desk, he looked at them. “Was there anything else?”

Owen clenched his jaw, as if he had to fight to keep the words in. With a tight shake of the head, he turned and left the office, quickly followed by Tosh, who threw another look over her shoulder before closing the door behind her.

Jack watched them go, a thoughtful expression on his face. Maybe he _would_ tell them the truth one day, when the memory didn’t hurt so much anymore. For now, they had other things that needed to be taken care of.

Returning his focus to what he’d been doing, Jack frowned at the notes he’d made. He really wasn’t quite sure what to do about Gwen’s upcoming wedding. It would be easy enough to prevent her getting bitten by the Nostrovite, of course, and yet…

Every action had consequences—that was the first thing he’d learned at the Time Agency. Gwen’s marriage to Rhys had held in the other timeline, and Jack was reluctant to do anything that might change that. After all, the Nostrovite incident had given Rhys the chance to save Gwen, to be the hero for once. Maybe he needed to do that to be able to cope with Gwen’s job. Or maybe Gwen needed to see it. Would giving them an uneventful, smooth wedding actually make them drift apart in the long run? That was the last thing Jack wanted to do.

Well, they still had time to think about it. The really important thing was stopping Gray.

The thought that there might be nothing he could do to help his brother pained Jack, but he knew that at this point in time, putting him in cryo and hoping a cure would be found one day was the only available option. He couldn’t risk anything happening to his team or the city he’d been protecting for so long.

They’d have to plan the best way to stop Hart and Gray, preferably without the others asking how he knew where they needed to be. He could tell Ianto, who already knew that he’d lived through all this before, but he’d rather not have to try to explain it to anyone else.

Hmm… This time round, he’d go to pick up the bombs from that building by himself. That would leave the team free to disarm the explosives placed all over Cardiff. Oh, and someone would have to stay at the Hub to intercept John Hart when he appeared. They’d have to force him to admit that he was being controlled by Gray—too difficult to explain how Jack could even entertain such a thought about his brother otherwise. And then they could set up a trap and…do what was necessary.

Satisfied, Jack settled back in his chair. This was the point when everything would change. And this time, they were ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now. There were originally more parts planned, but I've not been very active in the Torchwood fandom for a while. The ideas are still there, though, so I might eventually get back to it.
> 
> The excerpt Jack read is from the story “Jeeves in the Springtime” by P. G. Wodehouse. For more examples of the similarities between Jeeves and Ianto, I would recommend "My Man Jeeves"


End file.
